


Insomnia

by Blink23



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Bill Leyden is a good bro, Homophobic Language, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, all the pet names, basically an excuse to write them being soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:52:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink23/pseuds/Blink23
Summary: It was one thing to admit what you were in the dark, another entirely to talk about it out in the open.(Or: Snafu and Sledge get found out more than once. Some responses are better than others.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything for this fandom since the kinkmeme almost nine years ago, but a friend requested something with 'actual period-typical attitudes' and I ended up with this (and also some Webgott, but that's an entirely different story)

Hamm can’t sleep.

He doesn’t know what it is, if it’s the mud in every place he doesn’t want it or the scent of rotting corpses or just being so tired he’s beyond any hope, he can’t sleep. He curls up as best he can in his poncho but nothing comes to him except the glazed over eyes of dead civilians behind his eyelids.

“Gene,” He hears Snafu whisper, suddenly, over Peck's snoring, “Sledge...”

He makes out the grumpy humph, “Mer, the fuck-”

“Shhhh Gene. Come ’ere, Boo, I don’t want to hear you complainin’ ‘bout your neck tomorrow.”

Sledge snorts, but Hamm can hear him moving around.

“Like I’m gonna complain about a stiff neck over you wakin’ me in the middle of my four hours.”

“Darlin’...”

“Fine.”

Hamm sits up in his hole a little, peering over the edge. The rain’s barely mist, for once, so he can easily make out whats happening in the next hole over-- Sledge, cuddled close to Snafu’s chest, their rifles over their thighs, Snafu’s poncho thrown over the two of them like a blanket. 

“You still mad, cher?”

Sledge doesn’t answer.

“Who’s on watch?”

“Leyden.”

Gene hums like this is the only proper answer, and rubs his cheek against Snafu’s dirty shoulder. Snafu’s eyes dart around in the dark before he twists his neck to kiss the strip of Sledge’s forehead exposed by his helmet and something in Hamm’s gut shifts.

This isn’t-- and they’re not--

Gene tilts his head up, and Snafu, with a gentleness Hamm didn’t know he had in him, kisses him sweetly on the mouth. 

"Snaf," Sledge says, his voice reluctant. 

"I know, I know," Snafu pulls away a little, but the goes back to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose, "I'm playin' with fire," he says, in a horrible imitation of Sledge's accent. He retrieves a cigarette from somewhere under his poncho, jostling Sledge, but then pulls him closer with and arm around his shoulder once he's settled and lighting it, "just wanna kiss, 's all." 

Sledge watches him as Snafu takes a long drag, exhaling harshly through his noise. "Go to sleep, Boo." 

Sledge doesn't say anything, just tucks in forehead into his neck, and closes his eyes. 

Hamm sinks back into his hole, his heart going a million miles a minute.

They’re queer. They’re a couple of queers, acting as they like out in the open, not a care in the world. He could maybe see something like that from Snafu; he’d assume he’d be more likely to kick the teeth in of any homosexual he ever came across, but he’s fucked in the head and contrary enough to do it and like it. Sledge throws him more; he seems like a good, god fearing southern man who would never even think of it, who'd be disgusted like he should be, but he isn't. They’re the last two people he’d ever suspect, and the last two people he’d ever think would want each other. 

If they’re queer, then who else is? And more importantly, What is he supposed to do about it? What if they deny it and he's the one that gets in trouble? Or the rest of the platoon decides to make sure he's next in line to die for turning Sledge and Snafu in because they think he's lying?

His thoughts keep him up until he’s yawning over his morning chow, trying not to stare as Snafu takes Sledge’s dented can he's struggling to open with a scoff, whining about rich boys not knowing how to take care of themselves. 

Leyden catches him staring and drops down next to him, their shoulders touching.

“Didn’t sleep last night did you?”

He nods. Bill watches him, and then watches Sledge and Snafu lean into each other for a few moments.

“You’re a good kid,” Leyden says, “and I’m not usually wrong about this shit. But if you make me regret thinking that...”

He trails off. Hamm nods, just once, and Leyden smacks the back of his head, just once, with the same crooked grin on his face as usual.

Hamm understood, even if he didn’t want to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came to me yesterday and ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Note on the racism: Leyden calling Chinese people Chinamen or Black people Negroes would've been considered politically correct for 1944, it obviously isn't now, so I tagged it. No one is being overtly racist when you consider the time period.

Bill often thought that growing up in New York was the greatest thing to happen to him.

Marines talk about home. It’s just how it is; one minute you’re in a firefight, the next your sitting on your ass for hours with nothing new to say since you’re all eating, shitting and sleeping within feet of each other. Home gets brought up since before is really the only thing unique about them anymore. Hearing about your buddy’s girl, or his Ma’s Spaghetti, or his job tooling propeller shafts. Basic shit. Then sometimes you get kids who’ve never seen a colored person before boot camp, or marvel at what the hell a tamale is when Gutierrez from second squad explains his Ma makes them the best, and Bill is reminded how lucky he was the have the city. 

He grew up around everyone, in New York. He went to school with Pollocks and Russians and Irish and even a few Puerto Ricans. His uncle married a nice Jewish woman and didn’t even ask her to convert. A negro family ran the corner store and he bought his cigarettes from them every morning. He’d always spend a few minutes listening as the owner’s wife Lorraine talked about their new baby, chucking the kid under the chin when she’d bring her down from the apartment above the store. It was just how his life was in New York, to encounter all different people, living their lives. Chinamen, Cubans, Jews, Poles, Italians, Mexicans, whatever. 

Even queers.

He knew about the dancehalls and bars, bathhouses and restaurants. Everyone did, but no one talked about them. His cousin helped run one, in the Village, down an alley and in a basement. She liked to dress as a man, sometimes, and go out calling herself Charlie instead of Charlene. She used to let him drink whenever he wanted, as long as he kept his mouth shut. Occasionally, a man would size him up, just a teenager, babyfaced and tipsy at the end of the bar, and he’d have to tell him he wasn’t a queer. The first time he did it, the man’s face shifted from desire to panic so fast it made something in his brain shift.

He sees the same thing in Eugene’s face when he catches them one morning in Pavuvu, sleeping in the same rack as Snafu.

Jay’s gone already; lost to a different company. It’d only been Gene and Snafu in their tent for the next few nights, until replacements arrived. Bill supposes they think they’re safe, alone in this tent for four, their canvas walls pulled down to keep out the rain from the last few days. Bill had busted in, and Sledge had bolted upright from where he was tucked into Snafu’s side in nothing but his skivvies, his eyes wide.

“Holy shit.”

Snafu wakes up when the warmth of Gene is gone, rubbing his eyes. When he realizes Bill is there, staring, his eyes go hard, glaring, almost daring him to say something. He only stops looking at him like that when Eugene’s fingers dig into his thigh a little too hard.

There's a blanket over his waist, and Bill doesn't hold out much hope on him having something on under it. 

“Bill, it’s not-- we’re not--”

“Cher,” Snafu says, quietly, and he looks to meet Snafu’s eyes. Bill feels like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t, when he watches them look at each other like this, communicating without speaking.

“I just-- what the fuck, Eugene,” Bill says.

“Bill… you have to understand-”

“Or he doesn’t," Snafu sneers.

“Snaf-”

Snafu is suddenly furious, "It ain’t his business what we do Genie, just like it ain’t anyone else’s.”

“ _Merriell-_ ”

“If he’s goin’ to be a fucking prick about it when he’s the one that barged in here-”

“My cousin has a girlfriend, you dumb fuck,” Bill gets out, Snafu’s pissed off tone getting to him like it always does.

Snafu rolls his eyes, “That’s real nice Leyden, give him-”

“It’s not a him, you idiot. They’re both women.”

Gene looks up at that, his eyes wide. “Bill…?”

Bill sighs, collecting his thoughts. For once, he knows just saying what’s on his mind isn’t a good idea.

“Look, You shocked the shit out of me, okay? So sorry if I seemed pissed off. And I know you’re from the backwoods, all southern Belles and plantations and shit, so this is all secret and scary, especially with him being all...” He gestures to Snafu, with his dark skin and kinky hair, clearly not as white as it declares on his dogtags, “But in the big city, we mind our business, mostly, as long as you’re not being a pain in the ass. And Snafu might be one, but Gene, you aren’t. I know you wouldn’t do this shit and literally risk ruining your life unless you could somehow care about this fucker. So I don’t get it – especially not with Snafu, Jesus, get some taste – but it’s fine. I don’t care.”

“You don’t care...” Snafu drawls, like he doesn’t believe him, and Bill really wants to hit him. They had forged a tentative friendship on Peleliu, that mostly fell into the category of talking shit about people they both didn’t like and antagonizing the fuck out of one another between saving each other’s asses. It worked for them both, except for when either one of them was trying to be serious and the other had to take the piss.

“No, I don’t, you dipshit,” Bill grunts, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Unless you decide to stop in the middle of a firefight to jerk each other off-” Eugene flushes red at that, and Snafu just smirks, “-I’m not going to care.”

“That- It’s-” Sledge swallows, looking like he might cry. Bill thought of Charlene, her eyes glassy the first time he met Mary Ann after she explained they were together, and told her how much he liked her. “Thank you, Bill.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves him off, turning to leave.

The last thing he sees before the door slams shut is Snafu cradling Gene’s face in his hands, murmuring quietly to him.

“I need a fucking drink,” he mutters, heading off to his tent where he has a bottle of hooch he won off one of the How company guys waiting.

Bill knew growing up in New York was the greatest thing to happen to him. He just never suspected it would be the greatest thing that happened to Gene and Snafu too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this... I don't even know where this came from, honestly. It's also obviously not based in reality at all, except the real life Sledge did do a series of interviews for PBS in the 80's, which is when this was set.
> 
> GRID (Gay Related Immune Deficiency) was the original name for AIDS, back when it was just considered a 'gay' disease.
> 
> Also I apologize if there's any weird capitalization errors, my shift key currently is being a pain in the ass and I think I fixed them all but I might've missed some.

Tony just checks himself over in the mirror before hopping out of the van, landing on his feet and going for the back. 

Laura stays in the front seat; licks over her teeth, adjusts the shoulder pads in her blazer so they lay right. It’s her first internship post college, and sure, it’s just her local PBS, but as a history and TV production double major, it’s a great place to start. Hearing about this docuseries, she jumped at the chance; getting something on the national level like this was incredible. Even if it’s just interviewing a war vet.

The house is nice, neat little bungalow in Kenwood, painted dark blue with white trim. The neighborhood has seen better days, but you can tell it’s on the up and up, and is a comfortable place to live. Laura knocks on the red screen door, the front door already open for Tony, and a distinctly southern drawl yells for her to come in. she follows the sounds of voices through the living room and into the attached study.

It’s there that she finds the three men; she’s quickly introduced to Eugene Sledge, who smiles politely and shakes her hand when she reminds him she’d been the one to call him earlier, and Merriell, who winks flirtatiously at her when she smiles at him. What she can only assume is Sledge’s desk is pushed off to one side of the room, making space for Tony to set up with the built-in bookshelves along the wall in frame. It’ll make a nice picture, she thinks.

Something wet and cold touches her hand, and she nearly jumps out of her skin before she realizes it’s just a dog nosing her.

“Baptiste,” Sledge says, his voice all warning, but the king charles spaniel ignores him, rolling on to his back for belly rubs. Tony scratches at him, pausing his lighting set up, and his legs kick.

“That damn dog is about as well trained as you are, Merriell.”

Merriell smirks, transforming his face into something youthful. “Aw hell, Eugene, who’s to blame for that?”

Sledge snorts, “You, no doubt. I ain’t the one feeding him table scraps whenever he likes, Shelton.”

Merriell’s smirk widens, and Laura can clearly make out how handsome he must’ve been when he was young.

“Fine, Genie, I’ll get him out of everyone’s hair. Bap, c’mon now, walk time,” He orders, smacking his thigh. Immediately the dog perks up, trotting to follow the other man. His hand squeezes Sledge’s as he passes, their shoulders bumping. 

“Leave your cigarettes Mer,” Sledge orders, and a string of annoyed French comes from the other room, “I don’t care if you claim it’s just one, I know you’ll sit in the park with that damn dog and have six or seven. Your heart ain’t strong enough for it anymore like when we were kids.”

“You ain’t no fun, Boo.” Merriell says, almost pouting as he pokes his head in through the study doors with the dog's leash around his wrist, but then he’s out the screen door empty handed, the dog at his heels.

“Oh,” She breathes, and Sledge’s lips quirk in amusement, “You two… I mean, I knew you had a partner who was a man, but if you don’t mind me asking, how did you…?”

“You read my book, didn’t you?”

Her stomach drops out when she connects the dots.

“That’s Merriell Shelton? _Snafu_?” She blinks at him, “You've been with Snafu since the war?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he laughs, his hands running over his hair. She catches a glint of a gold band on his hand at the movement, and thinks about the matching silver one she saw on Merriell’s hand.

“Can I…? I mean, if I ask about it, would you answer? Just B-roll,” Laura insists, “Just so you know… we have it. You know more than I do that this isn’t talked about for your generation-”

“That’s putting it lightly,” He mutters.

“- But with GRID, and everything that’s going on right now in the gay community, having something like this - two people, who lived a long and happy life, even after something so damaging - it might be… uplifting? I don't know. We don’t even have to put it in, if you don’t want, or if you want to discuss it and ask us later to get rid of it, we can.” 

Sledge studies her, for a long minute, over the rim of his bifocals. She imagines the young boy from the pictures she’s seen, copper haired and thin, too pretty for the dirt and destruction of war, falling in love in the foxholes of Okinawa, and then later, maintaining a gay relationship in the mess that was the deep south in the 1960’s. She knew a little about Sledge being gay, but had assumed it was a late in life thing; confirmed bachelorhood until it was legal in the early 70’s. Instead it was double bedrooms and dates with women that go nowhere and terror of being found out. She can’t imagine how hard it must have been to fall in love with the man you want to spend the rest of your life with when you were a teenager raised to think it was a sin you could both be put in jail for and then live with it for decades.

“Mer ain’t gonna like this,” he sighs. Laura takes that as a yes.

“Like I said, it doesn’t have to be in if you decide you don’t want it.”

Sledge rubs his eyes, then pushes his glasses up his nose, “Alright. Now where do you want me to sit?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like this, honestly, but I feel like if I stare at this anymore I'll go crazy, so here we are.

Sidney doesn't know what happened on Okinawa, or Peleliu. All he has is news reports or the few stories he's gotten out of Eugene and the guys he's still friends with in his squad, and from what he gathers it was ten times worse than anything he faced. Gene's brother tells him about the nightmares, how he seems to wake up screaming more often than not. He refuses any mention of wearing his uniform, rarely talks about the war, and when he does, it's never about what really happened to him on those shithole islands.

When he does talk, it seems to be about Snafu.

He vaguely remembers a scrawny Cajun terrorizing replacements and chain smoking cigarettes and he's surprised by the fact that Gene even managed to befriend him. He can tell it's something special to him even though he doesn't say it, and every smirk and inside joke he can't explain because he wasn't there makes Sidney feel like he's being replaced.

He hates it. Sid spent most of his childhood protecting Eugene, helping him clean up his messes, but this is one he cannot fix, and it drives him crazy. 

Something tells him that there's only one person that can help, so Sidney swallows his pride, and contacts the VA for the address he needs. He writes to him four pages, tells him what's wrong with Eugene. After he sends the letter, he's not even sure what good it will do. It's not like he expects him to drop everything and come to Eugene's rescue.

Two weeks later, Snafu shows up at the Sledge's doorstep in the middle of a luncheon Mrs. Sledge is hosting, bag at his feet and cigarette in his mouth, and Sidney can't believe it.

“Jesus Christ Eugene, you goin' to let me in? Or is all this southern hospitality bullshit not true?”

The entire party gapes at him like he's from another planet, awestruck that he would talk like that with ladies present, but Eugene just snorts, his eyes brighter than Sidney's ever seen them, and stands from his chair. “You're one to talk. I shudder to think about what you would do to me if I showed up in New Orleans.”

Snafu grins around his cigarette before Eugene launches himself at him, hugging him to his chest.

“Good to see you Mer.”

“You too Gene.”

Mrs. Sledge gets the housekeeper to set a new table setting and pretty soon they both regaling everyone with stories about everything from Pavuvu to China, about Gunny Haney's crazy ass barking at them in combat and Snafu's shitty pick up lines he used on all the nurses. The men all laugh at some of the crazier things their commanding officers put them though and women at the table are hanging on Snafu's every word. He's completely uncouth, of course, but Sid wasn’t lying when he told Eugene every woman in Mobile was after a fighting man. With that slow drawl and his looks Sid can tell that he wouldn't have to use any of those awful lines to get a date from anyone present.

Sid, on the other hand is completely taken how they are with each other.They finish each other's sentences and touch each other with the ease only two men who have been through everything together can have. It's only when Snafu slips and calls Eugene Sledgehammer he has to speak up.

“Sledgehammer? How the hell did you get a name like Sledgehammer?”

They look at each other, smirking, and relay a story about Bill Leyden and 'Burgie' - who ever the hell that is- and storming the airfield in Peleliu. 

“He saved me,” Snafu admits, his face serious, “I'd have had my head blown off or somethin'. That's why we call him Sledgehammer. Most of the new guys would've cried for their mothers and not thought about the rest of the squad, but not our little Eugene,” He coos, pinching his cheek, and Eugene smacks his hand away, blushing.

The way he refers to him bothers Sidney. That's his best friend, it isn't 'our' anything.

Their stories die down and everyone retires to the back porch. The men smoke and the women drink iced tea and Eugene begs off, claiming that he really needs to show Merriell where he’ll be sleeping. The two of them disappear down the hall and are gone for close to an hour and Sid excuses himself to investigate.

He's surprised he wasn't heard, his shoes loud on the hardwood as he wanders down the hallway to where Eugene's door is cracked open and he can hear voices. At least until he catches sight of the two of them.

Eugene has his fingers threaded through Snafu's hair and his foreheads pressed together. He’s trembling all over, and Snafu's hands are under his shirt, skimming his sides and quietly shushing him, trying to calm Eugene down.

He hears Gene quietly sob, “I can't believe you would do something like that to me.”

“I didn’t-” Snafu frowns, pulling away, trying to find the right words, “When you asked me to come home with you, I thought ‘well, he’s feelin’ fuckin’ charitable,’ and I ain’t no fuckin’ charity case, you know that Gene.”

“It was never, ever charity, Mer,” He says, and Sid thinks he’d sound angry if he wasn’t so tired, “I love you, you goddamn idiot.”

“I know, Boo,” He says, “But I didn’t know… for all the shit we’ve been through, I didn’t know how to do this when it was just us. If we didn’t have this war or the malaria or fuckin’ patrols and nips shooting at us, and the only thing we could do at night was fuckin’ cling to each other lookin’ for something to make us happy in all the bullshit. I felt like shit asking for you to prove you meant it when you said you loved me as much as I did you.”

“So you just didn't, like a moron," Eugene scoffs, "I woulda come with you. I woulda wrote my folks and Sid, said I fell in love with a man and I wasn’t coming back-”

“That wouldn’t’ve been right, Darlin’, and you know it,” Snafu sighed, “You needed to come home. We got lucky with Leyden, your Momma findin’ out her baby is a queer from some letter sent from New Orleans? She woulda scoured the city for you to take you home and have my ass in jail.”

“Mother wouldn’t-’

“You honestly think your Momma - with the whole southern belle, wife of a doctor shit - couldn’t convince the police that a dirty fuckin’ Cajun from the wrong side of the tracks tricked her innocent baby boy into thinkin’ he was in love? ‘Specially when they’d’ve found us in a shitty apartment with me workin’ in a lumberyard to support us compared to this?” He gestured to the house around him, the quiet comfort of Eugene’s room, the obvious wealth he had available to him.

“That wouldn’t have-“

“It would’ve, Gene, and you know it. She’d just have to say the name Shelton an’ they’d’ve figured it was me. My nose stayed cleaner than my old man's did, but that don't mean shit when it's a nice white boy being taken advantage of.

“So I left. I figured you’d find some girl to give you little redhead babies and maybe think of it as just somethin' you did in the war.”

“I would’ve- I couldn’t do... that, anyway. This ain’t just me wanting you because you’re you Snaf, I don’t want… well, women aren’t-” Eugene cut himself off, unable to admit fully what he was. He was shaking, a little; terrified in the face. It was one thing to admit what you were in the dark with a man who loved you at your side, another entirely to talk about it out in the open.

Snafu seemed to pick up on this, his hands running up and down his arms, “I know, Boo. Phillips wrote to me. Said you were struggling, the nightmares, and how all you did was talk about me like I had up and died and taken a piece of you with me. I swear, Gene, I ain’t never felt so stupid. I figured my shit out back home an’ came as soon as I could. 

“I'm sorry, Cher, I fucked up. I probably don't deserve shit, but I'm sorry,” He sighs, kissing his cheek, and Gene just lets out a hollow sounding laugh.

“I should’ve recorded that, Bill will never believe I got you to say sorry.”

“Yeah, well, Leyden was always a fucker.”

Then Snafu kisses him hard on the mouth and Sidney's seen enough.

He lets himself onto the front porch to be alone with his thoughts, smoking three cigarettes as he tries to get his heart rate back to normal. 

It’s not that he’s a homosexual. It really isn’t. Sidney’s a little shocked to realize it, but part of him had always wondered about Eugene, who never showed interest in girls, who was uncomfortable with the way guys would talk about their bodies. He was always soft - delicate and overprotected, thanks to his heart - and it’s not a leap to think that he’d turned out this way. It’s not that.

Whether he stays or goes, Snafu will be the thing that makes Gene normal again.

For once, he's not the thing Eugene needs to help him, and it hurts more than he ever thought it could.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime in the 50's. I've got a few more of these in me, but they're all going to be in no particular order.

Not for the first time did Merriell wonder how the hell he got in so deep with this spoilt southern belle that he did anything and everything that he asked. Before Eugene, he’d try not to deal with any of the bullshit past a quick fuck and maybe a shared smoke or two. It was dangerous territory, getting attached, when you were like they were. He made it a rule that he didn’t do that shit. then he got distracted by his pretty mouth and red hair and now look at him, playing house with a dog and a mortgage that was his in every way except on paper.

If he’d have taken that rule to heart, maybe he wouldn’t be spending his whole fucking Saturday dismantling their kitchen.

The old stove had taken a shit and died two weeks ago and instead of letting Merriell fix it Eugene had decided he would pick out something new. Of course that meant he got something fancy that didn’t fit in the damn space it was supposed to. When he pointed it out, Gene had shrugged and said 'well... you can fix it so it can, right?' and given him those eyes, so here he was, trying not to ruin anything because they needed to shorten the cabinet between the sink and gas hook up an extra two inches. 

It wasn’t difficult - Merriell made cabinets for a living, after all, and he could reuse most of what was already there - just a huge pain in the ass and time consuming. He had removed the countertops easily enough without messing with the tile, but getting rid of the toe kick without fucking up the floors was proving difficult. Of course, it would’ve been easier if he had help, but Eugene had a morning class to teach, and had widened his eyes and pouted and told him he _couldn’t just skip it to hold a flashlight, Jesus Snaf_ and made sure he’d kissed him the way he liked and had coffee in the percolator on the counter when he’d left that morning.

He’s shaken from his thoughts when hears the dog’s nails on the floor close behind him and doesn’t even look up from where he’s attempting to pry away the edge moulding.

“Rudy,” He says, his voice all warning, and the mutt whines, chastised. He licks Merriell's face and trots to backdoor, pawing at it, showing him he wants to go outside. Merriell lets him out with an annoyed huff before he lights up a cigarette, knowing Eugene would kill him if he caught him smoking in the house but knowing he can get away with it if he leaves the door open.

After fifteen minutes and two cigarettes he’s finally managed to pry up the bottom of the cabinet, giving his access to where the whole thing screwed into the floor, when the phone rings.

“Jesus Christ, what fucking now,” he grunts, going for the receiver. He clears his throat despite his annoyance, putting on his best voice, knowing it could be someone from the university.

“Hello, Merriell speaking.”

He hears cackling on the end of the line and his blood goes cold.

“Line straight to the house. No switchboard or nothin’. Well you fancy now, huh?”

_Hang up. Just fucking hang up._

“What the hell do you want?”

The voice whistles low, “Let some rich college boy fuck you an’ now you’re too good for your daddy?”

Merriell goes still, trying to control his panic, “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Don’t be cute with me, boy,” his father snaps, “You ain’t never been good at it. I heard from one of those punks you used to run with. Seems one them got a letter from a friend out in Florida with some interesting information and decided to talk to me ‘bout you. ‘Friend from the Marines’ my Creole ass,” He could hear the sneer in his father’s voice, “Though I must say, I am impressed, Merl-Francis. He bought you a house, Boo? I dunno how you managed a rich boy like that. Your Momma was at least pretty when she started fuckin’ her rich man ‘fore she left us, but you’re just an ugly son of a bitch with nothin' to offer. You play little woman an’ cook an’ clean an’ suck his cock when he gets home? Is that it? Or does he play like he your wife? Maybe he like that, being the one to spread his legs-”

“You don’t know shit, especially not about us,” He snaps, and immediately knows it was the wrong thing to do. 

“Oooh, I don't know shit about _us?_ Well now we know it’s serious and you done fallen in love,” He cackles again, and Merriell can almost see the twisted smile on his face, “He tell you he love you, hm? Hold your hand and wear your ring and let his lily white Momma know her boy is a faggot for some useless mutt? Pretend like he's your girl and bend over when-”

Merriell hangs up. He stands, clutching the sink’s edge for a few minutes before he storms out, slaming the backdoor behind him so hard the glass in the window rattles and the dog barks at him. He throws himself down on the porch steps and attempts to light another cigarette, but he’s shaking so badly it won’t catch, and he tosses it into the lawn. Rudy comes to sit next to him, whining, and he tugs him close, resting his cheek on the top of his head.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he hisses, and Rudy yips in response, as if agreeing. Merriell lets him go, and the dog bolts to the fence line, bringing him back his favorite ball. He drops it at his feet, and looks at him with his big brown eyes, his tongue lolling out of the side his mouth, like he’s waiting for it to make him feel better.

“You’re a good dog, Rud,” Merriell says, scratching him behind the ears before picking it up and throwing it as hard as he can while sitting.

Eugene finds him like that a half hour later, after he's mostly calmed his racing heart. His bag's thrown over one shoulder and a bag of groceries in the other arm as he comes walking into the yard from the garage smiling, patting Rudy when he bounds over to him, but his whole face changes when he sees how shuttered Merriell’s own is. 

“Hey,” Gene says, softly, like Merriell’s a scared animal, “What happened? The cabinet get the best of you?”

Merriell grunts, not responding. Gene drops his stuff on the porch swing before he sits next to him, slipping an arm around his waist. Merriell resists the urge to check the perimeter, knowing their fence is blocking everything from view, and leans his shoulder into Gene’s. Gene takes his arms away from where they’re crossed against his chest, trying to subtly look for blood. He knows Merriell can’t stand the sight of it, even if it’s just on him, and no doubt thinks hurting himself is what set him off.

When he sees no blood, he kisses Merriell's temple, "What's gotten into you?"

“Just... pissed off. Whatever." 

Gene kisses his jaw, this time, resting his head on his shoulder, "What is it now?" 

"Remember when we ran into that guy from New Orleans? I don’t know, three months back, at the bar?”

“Yes…?” Eugene frowns, thinking about it. It was hard to forget; the whole thing had set Merriell on edge for a week. They hadn’t known him, but he had known Merriell, and when he had brought up the men he had known in New Orleans that were queer like them, Merriell had been spooked. Things had only gotten worse when he had thought them being together didn’t mean monogamy and had spent most of the night trying to get Eugene to come home with him.

They hadn’t been back to any of the bars or clubs they knew catered to their tastes since.

“Apparently he was more of a pain in the ass than I thought,” he sighs, exhaling smoke, “I got a call from my daddy.”

Eugene’s entire body goes tense, his hand on his side balling Merriell’s t-shirt in his fist.

“He told your father?”

“He told someone he knew back home and they told him,” Merriell shrugs, “My old man knew I was queer anyway. Least that’s why he claimed I got the shit kicked outta me as much as I did.”

Eugene flinches, but doesn’t respond otherwise. It’s the first time he’s confirmed what he knows Gene’s always suspected, and he’s thankful he’s not trying to comfort him and do any of the stupid bullshit people would try to do whenever he’d get pulled from the house as a kid.

“He told him ‘bout you, and the house, and the dog… everything we got goin’ on. He wanted me to know I ain’t nothin’ but a whore.”

Eugene pulls away to look at him like he's insane. “He what?”

“What, you were expecting some sort of reunion, Boo?” Merriell raises his eyebrows at Gene, “'cause that ain’t daddy. He just wanted me to know all I’m doin’ with you is fuckin’ for a roof over my head and three meals a day.”

“That’s not what this is, Snaf. That's- how-”

Gene pushed himself up and away from Merriell, trying hard to keep himself in check. He felt the same as he did when Edward would make one of his comments or his mother would talk about the lovely cousins and nieces of women she knew in town. He was so easily rilled up when it came to the few people that knew dismissing the two of them as something shallow or short-term, despite being together for almost a decade, especially when people thought he was the one being taken advantage of.

“Genie,” He says, reaching for his hand to get him to turn so he can make eye contact, “Genie. I know. He’s a fuckin’ prick. I know you love me, and I pay half the bills even if you didn't. It ain't like that." 

"How are you not mad about this?" 

"I was, mostly 'cause of what he said about you," Merriell shrugs, "But I can't let it fuckin' get to me. It’s hard not to be put out when someone says that kinda shit about us, just cause we’re queer, but if we let it get to us we'll get eaten alive, Cher.”

Gene huffs out a laugh, scrubbing his face with his hand, “You’re bein’ very adult about this.”

“I’m used to it. I've been doin' this for a lot longer than you have, Darlin', an' the only thing that matters is that you love me and I love you, not some dipshit alcoholic who don't know me or you at all.”

Gene sunk to his knees in the grass, crowding in close to Merriell so he could kiss him soundly on the mouth for that. It was so rare that he admitted freely he loved Eugene, even after years of being together, even after the trauma of war had smoothed into something they could deal with most of the time. 

“Didn’t know you had it in you to be romantic, Mer.”

Merriell’s eyes widen and dart around the backyard, the faux-horrified expression on his face ruined by the smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

“Shit, Boo, don’t get too loud. We can’t let that get out.”


	6. Chapter 6

Even with Eugene at school, even with him falling asleep on his books most nights from exhaustion, He wakes sometime between one and two, whimpering and tossing in bed. The nightmares are like clockwork, at this point. 

Mary Frank’s sure she could set her watch to them.

Eugene retires later than usual tonight, Merriell in from New Orleans and the two of them spending their time after dinner smoking on the porch. She hopes the calming presence will be enough like it was last time. She finds she likes him; a little uncouth, but polite, and more importantly he clearly means the world to Eugene. When Sidney has settled down and been drawn more and more into the life of a family man, Merriell has been there to pick up the slack, even from New Orleans. She’d cornered him last time he visited, and he’d explained he was thinking of moving here in that stilted way he has with her, admitting he had nothing tying him down in Louisiana. Part of her hopes it’s sooner rather than later.

Her hopes of Merriell's presence calming Eugene a dashed when she hears the first sign of struggle. She slips out of bed after the first yell from down the hall, padding down the hallway to press her ear to his door. She's realized Eugene isn't frond of her waking him unless it's particularly bad, preferring to soothe himself to sleep, so she waits.

“Gene,” she hears, suddenly, and freezes, “wake up boo, you’re fine, I got you.”

She hears a grunt and struggle, “Sledgehammer,” Merriell snaps, almost angry, and the struggle stops and he starts cooing at him, “there we go Genie, just me an’ you…”

“Snaf…?”

“You’re fine darlin’. I’m here.”

Eugene whimpers and she hears the springs of the bed, like he’s lying back, and dread settles in her stomach.

“I gotcha, Cher. Come on, go back to sleep.”

Eugene mutters something to low for her to hear, and Merriell just grunts.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Gene,” he says, firm, “you’ll probably get sick of me before anything.”

“You’re not leaving me again?” He asks, sounding so small and scared it nearly breaks Mary Frank’s heart.

“Naw,” Shelton hums, “Not if Lucille keeps makin’ that peach cobbler. Once she retires, though...”

“Is food the only thing you care about?” Eugene asks, already sounding sleepy.

“‘Sides you?”

Eugene snorts, “what a line.”

“I had the best ones out the three of us.”

“Burgie was engaged, and we didn’t need them.”

“Used to drive you crazy, though. Doesn’t the bible have somethin’ to say about jealousy?”

“After all the shit we’ve been through, you think God’s gonna keep me outta heaven for gettin’ mad when you lead a girl on to rile me up?”

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong it hurts. She knows her Eugene, knows that this isn’t who he is. He’s a good boy, not the type to get drawn into this.

“I think he’ll have somethin’ to say ‘bout what we do when you’re riled up for me, boo.”

“Hm.”

Merriell chuckles, “Go to sleep, Genie.”

Mary Frank backs away from the door. She’s completely flabbergasted, unsure what to do with herself with that man poisoning her son within her very own home. She knows this isn’t Eugene, she knows that Merriell is the one doing this. Her Eugene would never want to kiss a man. He was mentally unwell after the war, and Merriell has taken advantage and convinced him he likes it. She should go in there and yank him out of her son’s bed and forbid him from stepping foot on their property.

Eugene’s also stubborn. He would fight against her if she brought it up, if she told him what she really felt. He’d fight tooth and nail to prove that this is how he really was, even against the disgust she’s sure he’ll feel when he comes to his senses.

The next morning, she tries to keep a smile on her face and she watches the two of them at breakfast, teasing each other and acting like nothing is wrong. They're going up river today, Eugene on the hunt for Some type of bird that should be migrating into the area soon. Mary Frank tries not to think of what they'll really be doing in the middle of nowhere in the back of a pick up truck.

She needs to get rid of him, and quickly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legitimately know nothing of New Orleans fyi, so I have no idea about Marigny except what google tells me (Which is basically by the 40's/50's it was crime infested and filled with questionable shit, so we're basically going to pretend the bar existed there since cops would have probably not cared about a gay bar in a bad neighborhood) 
> 
> Most gay bars pre-gay rights movement were in fact run by the mob. it was mostly because they usually could bribe cops to look the other way when it came to how they were making money.

Maxine has been going to Lucille’s since she was known as Maximilian and hadn’t been able to apply lipstick.

The little dive bar hidden in Marigny held on thanks to the queers, coloreds, and all around freaks of the city and a bit of interference from the mob. While the tourists stayed in the French Quarter, if you wanted a good time, you were at Lucille’s.

She met Merriell there when he wasn’t more than fifteen, shiteating grin on his annoying little face.

Merriell wasn’t a pleasant teenager, an asshole in that way teenagers were when they think they know everything. Merriell was a true piece of work, all sneers and harsh words until you got to know him, which he never did let anybody do. While more than a few of the men wanted domesticity or a little bit of tenderness when they knew they could get it, Merriel just wanted a fuck and to ignore you the rest of the next night.

He was a little fucker, and Maxine adored him like he was the bastard son she’d never want. When he went to the pacific, she worried about him, and when he came back fucked up, she did the same thing.

Then he up and disappeared for a month. Maxine worried he had gone somewhere to do something stupid to himself like some of the boys she knew who were 4-F before the war, but he came back. When he returned, he was more serious, but less of a mess, more like himself before the war. The disappearing and reappearing went on for about nine months, until finally, one day after he’d been gone, he showed up with a pale little redheaded cutie, the both of them sitting in the corner pressed together from shoulder to hip. 

While some of the other usuals talked it over (Marty never did get over Merriell not wanting his vain, middle aged fairy ass) she had made her way over and draped herself all over the redhead, smiling flirtatiously. 

“How are you, darlin’?”

Merriell interrupted before Red could get a word out. 

“You ain’t got anything he wants, Boo.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, “you sure about that, Sweetie?”

Red smiled, all polite southern manners, “No thank you, ma’am.”

She’s about to respond when she noticed Merriell’s hand on the boy’s thigh under the table, his own covering it.

“Why Merriell Shelton,” she laughed, “are you saying this boy done made an honest man outta you?”

“Ain’t nobody in this room an honest man, Cher,” he smirked, “‘cept maybe you.”

She’d thrown her head back and laughed, before pressing a kiss to his cheek, her lipstick leaving a berry red imprint. 

She had sat and wanted to hear all about Mer and his man, who she found out was called Eugene. This is where he had been running off too, and it was important. So important, he was leaving New Orleans all together. Eugene was studying in Mobile, and they had a real nice furniture maker that would take him on as an apprentice, making cabinets and tables and whatever else. The pay would be better there, and cheaper to live, since Mobile wasn’t so big. He could live in a decent neighborhood with good plumbing and an actual kitchen for what he was paying for his shithole studio in the city.

“It all worked out, and I ain’t got no reason to stay.”

 _But plenty to leave_ she thought, watching him stare at Eugene like he was God’s gift without him realizing.

“Good on you, Cher,” She murmured, winking at Merriell before she sauntered away. That was the last she saw of him until an hour or so later, when he had come round for his goodbye, pressing a kiss to her cheek and letting her know he’d write to her once he got settled.

She didn’t hear from him again, not that it surprised her. 

Years later, when Roxie had come in to the dressing room, waving a letter around and declaring Shelton went and got hisself _hitched_ and was wearing another man’s ring, she was even less surprised.


	8. Chapter 8

Kitty was there the first day Merriell got hired, finishing up an expense report as Hamilton had shook his hand and welcomed him. He had smiled, but it came out more like a grimace, and when he turned to leave their eyes had caught. 

She finds out a bit about him over the next few weeks. He’s from New Orleans, and is properly Cajun. He was a Marine, and spent some time in the Pacific, but doesn’t talk about it. He’s a flirt with all the girls, even Anna, who’s about forty, married, and overweight. He moved to Florida after the war, needing a change of scenery. He did a little bit of work under a furniture maker and at a lumber mill before that, which is why he got hired by the cabinetry company.

He’s handsome, and while he can come across as mean as hell, he can be surprisingly sweet. When Mae quits to stay at home with the baby she’ll be delivering in the next few months, he brings her a dime drilled through to wear on a chain around her neck, promising her it’ll ward off evil (“it’s either that or spitin’ and I doubt you’d do that.”) He feeds the stray dog that hangs out behind the building the crusts off his sandwiches at lunch, speaking sweetly to it in french. He’s incredibly patient and kind with Merv, the colored man who cleans the office, and gets angry with anyone that tries to say anything bad about him.

A few months in Kitty gets up the nerve to ask him if he’d like to come out for drinks with the whole gang on Friday, like usual. He chews his full top lip, before giving her a nod.

The roadhouse they go to is a little rough around the edges, but most of the girls don’t mind. He loosens up after a few beers, especially when someone else is buying them. Jimmy, one of the guys who does finishing work, was at Pavuvu the same time he was, and they talk shit back and forth, until he brings up that he knew another Cajun son of a bitch there, some asshole in K-Company they called Snafu. 

He smirks, real slow, before letting him know he was that Cajun son of a bitch. Jimmy cackled and slapped him on the back and starts asking after every man he knew Merriell knew.

“Who was that boot you were always around? You used to call him something fuckin’ stupid, like ax or-”

“Sledgehammer,” he drawls, and something odd flits across his face.

“That scrawny shit ever make it out alive?”

Snafu takes a drag from his cigarette and nods, “Eugene’s in graduate school on the GI bill. Sciences.”

“Huh, didn’t know he had it in him,” Jimmy shrugs, “but then again my ass was out by the time Peleliu was done so…”

He smirks, “Missed all the fun, boo.”

Jimmy snorts. 

He withdraws a little after that, drinking and smiling politely but otherwise remaining quiet. It’s like Jimmy knowing him has spooked him, and he’s uncomfortable with him having a point of reference outside of work.

She only hears him talk again when she’s on her way back from the Ladies room, Merriell chewing his lip and blinking rapidly with the payphone receiver wedged in between his shoulder and ear.

“You want me to grab somethin’ for it before I go home?”

Kitty frowns, stopping where she can't be seen but he can. She doesn't want to eavesdrop, but Merriell keeps his life so quiet her curiosity gets the best of her. 

“It’s not a problem, Darlin’. I know it’s just a cold but you need to eat an’ the diner’ll be--”

_Oh._

His girl must interrupt him, because he rolls his eyes at being cut off.

“Okay, okay. Jesus. I’ll home in half hour.”

His entire expression softens, molds into something that makes Kitty’s throat feel tight.

“You too, Eugene.”

Kitty gut shifts, and her heart rate picks up. The thought of Merriell being a homosexual is too much to process without her spiraling into some sort of panic. He seemed so nice and normal, and her brain can't seem to match the facts with the idea she had built in her head. 

She goes back to their table, Merriell following just behind. He finishes his beer and insists he needs to get home, leaving as everyone shouts their goodbyes at him.

She waves and wishes him goodnight and tries to tamp down the panic over what she knows.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime in the late-60's.
> 
> Most cities had 'moral squads' on their police force by the mid-60's, who would routinely do things like raid gay bars to 'clean up the streets' of their respected cities. Problem was, a lot of these moral police would harass and be violent with patrons of whatever establishment was being raided and no one cared since they were considered the dregs of society. The Stonewall Riots started thanks to one of these raids.

It was just a stupid fight, nothing big; Michael had gone out alone with Jenny Dixon and claimed she was helping him study Bio chem, but he knew it was bullshit. And then Tim had told him that he was them out at some frat party and when he had asked about it Michael had gotten cagey and insisted it didn’t matter if she thought there was something there because he was gay. Andrew had stormed out and went to the bar, not wanting to be around happy straight couples or whatever when his boyfriend was being an asshole, but of course, that was the night the cops decided to bust the place. 

Andrew’s parents are going to kill him. They didn’t want him in Florida anyway; too far from Ohio, too little supervision for him to be safe, not realizing the appeal to him. And now he was arrested at a gay bar with thirty other people and Michael would get in trouble if he asked for his help and no one knew they were gay outside of one of the girls in his taxonomy lab he once accidently met at the bar who was a lesbian and he was so fucked-

“Mr. Glorioso.”

His eyes snapped up, widening as he see who it is calling his name. There's a man holding his elbow with heavy lidded eyes, looking a little drunk, and of course one of his professor's friends would get nabbed when he got hauled in for being queer, just his fucking luck. 

“Professor Sledge, I-”

But his professor shakes his head, and gestures to him with his hand while looking at the cop, “Him too.”

The cop sighed, bored, and yanked him out of the holding cell. Sledge and the man to his left glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to care, and heads off down the hallway.

“Sir-”

“I’m assuming your parents don’t know?” He asks, looking him over and wincing as he took in the bruises. Andrew shakes his head, and Sledge sighs, “Alright. You can owe me, then.”

Andrew doesn’t know what to say to that. He glances at the other man and he just shrugs, following the cop and Sledge out past the other cells and into the main station. Everything goes very quickly, and Andrew’s head is spinning by the time they are safely in Sledge’s car and on their way towards campus, Andrew in the back seat, rattling off his on-campus address.

“Mer,” Sledge says, snapping Andrew out of his daze, and the guy scoffs, unrolling the window.

“Don’t act like you don’t smoke yo’ pipe with the windows in the study closed, cher,” he grumbles, lighting a cigarette, “An’ before you say shit, I’ve been smokin’ since I was thirteen, if I was gonna get lung cancer that shit woulda happened already.”

“And I figured if you’d ever get arrested for moral indecency or whatever they’re calling it now, it would’ve happened when we were a couple of grunts scrubbin’ oil from barrels for a couple of dipshit Generals, but here we are.”

“Fuck that shit Genie, I scrub drums for no man,” he says, and Sledge lets out a bark of laughter, “‘Cept maybe you, if you asked real nice. And it ain’t my fault they done raided the fuckin’ bar when I went out for a drink after work.”

“You coulda gone to the irish place. It ain’t that out of the way.”

He snorts, “And deal with O'Malley's wife tryin’ to get me to fuck her ‘cause he clearly ain't doin' it for her? No thank you, I’m too old to pretend to be interested in that shit.”

It hits Andrew, with sudden clarity, that it wasn’t just chance that his buddy got arrested the same time he did.

His professor was a homosexual.

“Holy shit,” Andrew says, “I thought you were married.”

The guy cackles, glancing back at him, “Who the fuck do you think he’s married to, Boo?”

“Merriell,” Sledge says, but his lips are twitching like he’s pleased, “Leave my students alone.”

“Still no fun after nearly twenty-eight years, Genie,” Merriell says, but he’s smiling softly, like he’s pleased Sledge doesn’t deny they’re married. 

“How the fuck have you been with someone for that long?”

Sledge looks amused when he glances back at him through the rearview mirror, “Marines did more for me than just pay for college, I guess.”

“You mean you guys were in Iwo Jima or-”

“We didn’t fight in Iwo Jima, boo.”

“Whatever. You just decided ‘hey, were both homos, let’s make out in this foxhole?’ That’s it?”

Sledge shrugs, making a left turn towards the residences on campus, “It was more like we realized the other one was queer in Peleliu and interested and did somethin’ about it on Pavuvu, but sure.” 

“I didn’t even know people like us could have something like that.”

Andrew feels like an idiot for admitting it, until he sees how Merriell’s looking at Sledge. 

“It’s hard,” he admits, “It’s so hard you sometimes wonder if you’re makin’ the right decision. Not ‘cause you don’t love ‘em, but ‘cause they’re goin’ through it as much as you are. And you can feel like shit for doin’ it, like ‘oh, if it wasn’t for me, maybe they’d have a woman and kids and all that.’ I’ve felt less guilt fuckin’ killing people than I do about this sometimes. That shit can eat you alive, Boo, so it’s best not to dwell on it.”

“It’s worth it, though,” Sledge says, pulling up to the corner near his residence and turning to look at Andrew, “That’s the funny thing: it’s so completely awful at times and you’ll wonder why you couldn’t be normal but it’s also so worth it that you can't imagine it being any other way. The way things are shifting, I hope and pray it’s better for you and everyone else than it was for us, but it still rings true even if it doesn’t get better. This is who we are, and I’d like to think if God has a plan for everyone like they say, us existing this way is part of it.”

“Genie,” Merriell says, and Sledge looks at him. They seem to have a silent conversation, just looking at each other, and Andrew bites his nails.

God, he wants something like that.

Andrew slides out of the back seat instead, slamming the door behind him. Sledge rolls down the window and he bends down to lean against it on his hands, almost eye level with the two men.

“I think this kinda goes without saying, but-”

“I’m not saying anything,” Andrew interrupts, and Sledge relaxes, “it isn’t my business.”

Sledge puts his hand on the top of Andrew’s a squeezes, “If you ever want to talk, we’re both here, okay? Even if you think it's stupid, it probably ain't, and we'll be here.”

Andrew nods, backing away from the car and moving back on the the sidewalk.

“Say hello to Mr. Dombroski for me!”

Andrew nearly trips over his own feet at the mention of Michael, Merriell’s laugher loud and bright as they pull away from the curb.


	10. Chapter 10

The man is the first customer of the day, arms across his chest awkwardly in the showroom amongst the diamond cufflinks and gold bracelets. If Chuck’s father were still running the business, he would’ve sneered at his dirty work boots and dark skin, but the old man had died months ago, and business had been booming ever since. Apparently being a decent human being and realizing everyone’s money was green anyway had done wonders for their failing little jewelry shop.

The man had gestured to the case of wedding bands, tapping his fingers on the glass.

“I need two. Well one for me and one for... her. Just bands.”

The man shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. He winces in sympathy; he knows how it must feel, to not have enough for a true wedding ring for a lady.

They settle on something simple rather easily. He doesn’t want gold for himself; thinks it’ll get banged up too easily with his work. They settle on a nice platinum band, plain with a milgrain edge. For his girl he gets something nice in gold, engraved with a leaf and berry pattern. A little thick for a woman’s band, though Chuck doesn’t say anything, as he seems set on it.

He’s ringing him up when he notices the chain around his neck and under his shirt, so similar to the one he himself can’t bare to take off, all these years later.

“Where were you stationed?”

The man frowns, confused.

“I was in the navy,” Chuck says, and the guy smirks, “Pacific mostly. I was a submariner.”

“I was a mortarman in the First Division. Gloucester to Okinawa, then six months clean up,” he licks his lips, looking hesitant, “That’s where we met.”

“Lucky bastard,” Chuck laughs, “We didn’t get nurses at our depth.”

The guy doesn’t say anything, just pockets the rings, smiling with an expression that Chuck knows too well. It’s on his own face the minute he looks at his wife and thinks about how lucky he is. He exits with a wave, the bell jingling behind him as the door slams shut when he steps into the Florida sunshine.

Chuck hoped whatever happened, they were happy together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The (very short) end. Ta-da!
> 
> I had actually intended for Sledge to come in and get his band sized (because lets be real, Snafu would never take that into consideration) so it would go with the overall theme of these, but I like ending it like this better to be honest. Also I firmly believe if they were as careful as they needed to be in the time period, Eugene would've gone somewhere else to do it instead of the same store to do it on the off chance they'd pick up on them both being men.


End file.
